


Take a Better Look Beyond a Storybook

by missgoalie75



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 03:06:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missgoalie75/pseuds/missgoalie75
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She - <i>Sansa Stark</i> – used to be stared at for her beauty, the way she carried herself like a proper lady, admiration and fancy in every gaze, but Alayne Stone is stared at with suspicion and distaste. (<i>Bastard</i>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take a Better Look Beyond a Storybook

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Title is from "Turn to Stone" by Ingrid Michaelson.

Sansa is around five years old when she's told that Jon is a bastard, that he's not like Robb, that they only share a father.

"He's not equal to you or Robb or Arya," her mother tells her, a hand on her swollen stomach. "So don't treat him as such. He's not your true brother like Robb is."

So she watches how her mother treats him and follows such because mother knows best – if she wants to be just like her mother when she's all grown up, then she has to do what she does.

She never thought much about it, in truth. Of course she's heard that bastards are born out of deceit, that bastard boys are cruel and bastard girls are shameless and there has to be some truth to it if so many people say so, even though she's never seen Jon as particularly cruel. He's close with Robb and is kind to Arya and he's always treated her in a respectful way, if distant, very much like the way he regards her mother.

It used to make her happy, but as she thinks about it while eating at the wedding feast, it now makes her hollow, more lonely; they may share blood, but she's made sure that they were never siblings, not like Arya and Robb were to Jon.

Something almost like regret ensnares her and she takes a long drink of mead to wash it away (it doesn't quite work).

She can almost pretend that it's just a bad dream, which she'll wake up from in Winterfell and forget about the absurdity of _her_ being a bastard as she works on her stitching and giggles with her friends.

But she's at the Eyrie now and she almost doesn't recognize herself in the mirror, day after day. 

People stare at her here too. She - _Sansa Stark_ – used to be stared at for her beauty, the way she carried herself like a proper lady, admiration and fancy in every gaze, but Alayne Stone is stared at with suspicion and distaste. 

( _Bastard_.)

She can't stand it and it hasn't even been a full week. How is she supposed to continue this farce for weeks, maybe even _years_ , and her mind immediately goes to Jon, thousands of miles away at the Wall, so removed from everything and for the first time, she's envious of him.

( _Bastard_. (Like him.))

There's some sort of irony in this, but she refuses to give it another thought. At least not until she's in her room late at night, her aged maid dead to the world beside her, staring at the stone ceiling and wondering if maybe being born a bastard doesn't hurt as much, isn't as bad, that it's all you know and you can accept it easier like honey mixed with bitter medicine. But she knows that can't be true, that at some point Jon must've looked to Robb or Arya or maybe even herself, and realized that there's a difference, that there always was and always will be, an unseen, distinguishable mark ( _taint_ ) on him. She never thought twice about it, always correcting Arya ( _half brother_ , _bastard brother_ ), blissfully unaware.

(She just never _thought_.)

She wishes she could turn gray and blend into the stone walls around her, be invisible, and it's just as well her hair is no longer auburn, eye-catching in the sunlight; the dark dye reminding of Arya's ratty hair and raven's wings. More than once, she wishes she could send a raven to Jon and ask him for advice: _how did you do it, how did you not go mad, how did you take every slur and unfair treatment without screaming?_

(How was he able to hold her hair back while she vomited, forced together to ride out their illness together so many years ago?) 

She sits in front of the small table in her room, blank parchment, ink, and quill ready, but she can never come up with the right words, and she tosses the blank parchment into the fire, as if erasing its existence would erase her attempt. Besides, it's a silly thought; it's not like Alayne Stone would know anyone so far away. 

She has no claim to anything and she double-checks her bedroom door at least twice before climbing under the blankets, afraid of men like Marillion sneaking in at the dead of night to claim her because who would care – she's a _bastard_ with nothing to her borrowed name; _worthless_.

Snow falls and she's outside, fingers numb as she rebuilds Winterfell from memory and maybe one day it can be done with stones and wood and metal, gods willing. Or maybe it's another one of her silly dreams, something out of a song or a tall tale and she knows better now that good men fall and evil prevails and she has to wipe her face dry before her tears can freeze on her face.

She wonders if word has gotten to Jon about what happened to her mother and Robb and Winterfell and she considers writing a letter once more, even though she's resigned to never writing to him.

But she hopes that one day she'll see him again. She can tell him about being a bastard and he'll probably be so surprised, a touch sympathetic, and she'll probably start saying an apology of sorts, even though it will be too late and not enough, and he'll stop her because he's always been honorable in spite of everyone and everything against him and she can almost picture it, if she just closes her eyes –

But she keeps them open because there's no point to dreaming and fantasizing the impossible; that childish part of her is gone, being buried under the snow and nobody will use it against her again.


End file.
